


I'm the Alpha Now, Part 2

by alisvolatpropiis



Series: I'm the Alpha Now [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Anal Sex, Bottom Derek, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Comeplay, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Knotting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 09:51:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1853623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisvolatpropiis/pseuds/alisvolatpropiis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Come on,” Stiles mumbles into his neck, biting playfully. “Let’s get out of here.”</p><p>Derek is distracted by Stiles’ teeth and the way his hard, lean body is curved against his, warm and insistent. “What,” he asks finally, one hand sliding down Stiles’ back to grab a handful of that firm, tight ass.</p><p>He steps away, making Derek growl with annoyance, eyes flashing red. Stiles just laughs, scent blossoming with arousal instead of fear. “Let’s go back to my house. I’m not getting knotted for the first time in your degenerate urban wolf den.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm the Alpha Now, Part 2

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of [I'm the Alpha Now](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1683722)
> 
> So glad that I finally have the time to to finish this!! So much smut. :)

“Come on,” Stiles mumbles into his neck, biting playfully. “Let’s get out of here.”

Derek is distracted by Stiles’ teeth and the way his hard, lean body is curved against his, warm and insistent. “What,” he asks finally, one hand sliding down Stiles’ back to grab a handful of that firm, tight ass. 

He steps away, making Derek growl with annoyance, eyes flashing red. Stiles just laughs, scent blossoming with arousal instead of fear. “Let’s go back to my house. I’m not getting knotted for the first time in your degenerate urban wolf den.”

**~*~**

As they’re getting into his Jeep, Stiles tells him that his dad his working a double shift and won’t be home until tomorrow night. “Good,” Derek half-purrs, half-snarls, grabbing Stiles’ shirt and pulling him nearly out of the driver’s seat and attacking his mouth, surprising himself with the force and need he puts into the kiss, only releasing him when Stiles begins to moan, hands clutching at his shirt.

“Drive,” Derek orders.

He can't stop touching him, leaning across the gearshift to rub his hand up his thigh and nibble at his ear, drinking in the steady pulse of hot arousal that thickens the close air the Jeep. His hand has found its home around the growing bulge in Stiles’ pants, and he presses his palm against him, flicking the button of his jeans open with swift twist of his thumb. The zipper falls easily after that, and Derek leans down farther, head between Stiles’ stomach and the steering wheel. The angle is weird, but he can just get his hand in…

“Not that I’m not loving this, Der,” Stiles gasps, hips arching up of his seat as he hits the brakes too hard at a stop sign. “But it would really fuck up our plans if my dad pulled us over right now, so – fuck, Derek!”

Stiles’ cock is long and cut and wet at the tip, precome glistening there like a personal invitation for Derek’s tongue. He licks it up greedily, the concentrated taste of Stiles’ musky, spicy scent exploding in his mouth. It makes him hungry for more, makes him want to suck every last drop of come from his mate’s perfect, lithe body.

To his extreme disappointment, Stiles squirms away from him, gently pulling him up by the hair. They’re still stopped, the glow of a streetlight casting shadows across Stiles’ face but sparking little glints of gold in his eyes as he glares down at him. He can see a crescent moon-shaped line of indentations just under his bottom lip where he’s been biting at it. Derek kisses the spot and licks across it, cock hardening even more to know that the next time he kisses Stiles, he’ll taste the precome that he’s spreading there. “You’re evil,” Stiles hisses, but all Derek can really hear is the frantic pounding of both their hearts.

“Drive,” he growls.

 **~*~**

The scent of pure, unadulterated _Stiles_ wraps around him when they stumble into his bedroom, kissing each other in a frenzy.

“You’re mine,” Stiles says throatily, part wonderment, part command. He’s pulled away from the kiss to rest his forehead against Derek’s, hands running down his abs.

“Yours,” Derek agrees, drunk with the rush of pleasure at how right it feels. He clutches Stiles’ ass again, smiling at how perfectly it fits into his hands. “And you’re mine.”

“Yours,” Stiles repeats, sighing and smiling. He pushes Derek’s jacket of his shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. It’s like a starting pistol: their kiss continues, hurried and needy while they race to pull of the rest of their clothes, urgency making them clumsy and uncoordinated.

It’s perfect.

When they’re both naked, Stiles plants those long, elegant fingers against his chest, thumbs brushing lightly, teasingly, across his nipples, making him hiss and gasp with pleasure. “Mine,” Stiles says again, pushing against his chest.

His body, usually so rigid and immovable, goes pliant under Stiles’ touch. He lets himself be pushed back on the bed, gaze locked on the delicious curves and planes of Stiles’ naked body, all lean lines and pale, mole-dotted skin. Stiles is climbing over him, laying him back and covering him like a protective blanket, overwhelming him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Stiles murmurs into his hair, tender and awestruck.

“Stiles,” he chokes out, unable to continue, wrecked by the rush and scream of sensation and emotion that cascades through him, making him tremble, full of need and lust and love and possession, a volatile mix that threatens to spark and catch fire with every touch of Stiles’ hands on his skin.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, and Derek believes him. Stiles runs his hands up his sides, all the way up, pulling his arms above his head and pinning his wrists to the bed. Derek lets himself be handled, dissolving in the sweet freedom of giving his body over to his mate, delighting in the unfamiliar satisfaction of letting himself be vulnerable. He sighs and bucks his hips, twisting his head to the side to bare his neck.

Research or instinct, Stiles knows what to do with the sign of submission. He nuzzles into his neck, leaving his scent there while breathing in Derek’s, full lips firm on his skin before he clamps his teeth around the thick cord of muscle runs from his neck to his shoulder. He doesn’t recognize the sound that comes out of him when Stiles’ teeth find their home, blunt and human and biting hard enough to leave a mark that Derek knows will fade in seconds. He wants it there forever.

“Look at you,” Stiles whispers, sitting up a bit to get a better look at how thoroughly he’s laid waste to Derek’s defenses. “Big bad alpha werewolf,” he laughs softly, as if he can’t believe his luck. He moves his hands back down to his chest, and Derek leaves his arms pinned above his head as if he were tied up.

“Stiles,” he moans again, this time pleading. He doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants, for something he’s never wanted until Stiles. He can’t find the words to say it, can only say his mate’s name, but it seems like enough.

“When you fuck me,” Stiles asks, almost casually, cocky, like Derek can’t hear how fast his heart is racing, narrow hips rolling softly. “You’ll knot me, tie us together, fill me up.”

“Yes,” Derek manages to huff out before capturing Stiles’ mouth in a wet, needy kiss. He pulls back quickly, just in time, as he loses control a bit, his fangs sliding out. He knows his eyes, heavy and half-closed, are shining red.

“And that seals the bond? Makes us mates for…ever?”

“Yes. We don’t have to, we can wait - ” Stiles cuts him off again with a kiss, one hand reaching down to cup Derek’s balls where they lay heavy and aching. Derek wants to be good, doesn’t want to pressure him, wants to give him all the time he needs to decide if this is what he really wants, even though his wolf is damn near howling to take and be taken. He doesn’t know Stiles’ relationship history, hell, doesn’t even know if he’s a virgin. He should be taking control, slowing things down, but he’s been so achingly lonely and broken for so long, and Stiles feels so _right_ , and he doesn’t smell a trace of hesitation on him, far from it.

Stiles pulls back from the kiss and stares down at him, eyebrows bunched in concern. “Derek, I can feel you freaking out.”

“I’m just…worried that you’re going to regret this.” Derek knows full well the consequences of rushing head- and hormone-first into an ill-advised relationship. But he knows that what he has with Stiles – new and overwhelming as it is – is nothing like him and Kate, but he can’t help but see the parallels.

Stiles shifts so he’s lying next to him, resting his head on his chest. Derek reaches down and tangles his hand in his hair. “Derek, I was pretty sure that I was in love with you after the second time I saw you, glaring at Scott during a lacrosse game like you were trying to burn his soul away with your laser eyes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh. Just like I didn’t see you at the gas station that one time, when I was all by myself, Scott miles away at work? Or the time at the grocery store, or at Lydia’s house last week, or – “

Taking a cue from Stiles’ preferred method to shut him up, Derek hauls him up and kisses him until they’re both breathless. “- outside the sheriff’s station three days ago,” he finishes, smirking. “I’m just saying that you’re not as stealthy as you think, and the fact that I was always seeing you around made me think about you a lot, made me feel like I knew you, or that I was going to know you, maybe, which I guess is the mate thing, maybe? But, what I’m trying to tell you is that this feels _right_ to me, has felt right to me since before we actually met. So, yeah, I want this. Want you.”

Derek gives up trying to pretend that Stiles isn’t absolutely right about his aggressive following tendencies (he refuses to use the word _stalking_ ) and instead marvels at the way he suddenly knows, bone deep, that Stiles is telling the truth. It’s more than his heartbeat or his scent; it's instinct, raw and pure. “I believe you.”

“You better. Now, anything else we need to talk about before we get this show on the road? Because honestly, if just being pre-mated to you or whatever feels this good, I’m dying to find out what actually this – you – us actually feels like when it’s all supernaturally sexually official or whatever.”

“You’re a ridiculous human.”

“And you’re a grumpy sourwolf. But you’re _my_ grumpy sourwolf. Or you will be, if you ever get around to sexing me.”

Derek laughs, honest to god _laughs_ , and then laughs again at the goofy grin of delight it evokes from Stiles. He rolls on top of him, taking the time to leave a large hickey on his neck before moving down the bed to rest his head on Stiles’ chest. “Have you ever…?” 

“Been knotted? Just that one time Scott and I were experimenting – oh god, that tickles!” Stiles shrieks with laughter as Derek kneads at the tender skin of his ribs, rubbing stubble burn across his pale chest. “Kidding,” he says, a little breathless, when Derek finally stops. “If you’re asking if I’m a virgin though, the answer is no. I’m not super experienced or anything, but uh, you don’t have to be gentle with me.”

As if to prove it, Stiles yanks him back up, making sure Derek is watching as he twists and bares that long, beautiful neck, reddening skin blossoming with his mark. Stiles’ grin is damn near predatory as Derek growls at the sight, eyes flashing red, fangs and claws snapping out. 

Stiles pulls him forward by his nape, grabbing him by the scruff to push him towards his neck, a low moan echoing from deep within his lithe, wiry chest as Derek’s fangs, whisper gentle, skate across the thin skin there. He focuses on Stiles’ heartbeat, already second nature to him: it’s hurried and urgent, but with passion, not fear. Derek licks him a few times before returning his fangs to his skin, clamping softly onto him, a ghost of a bite.

Stiles shudders and keens beneath him, seemingly wrecked by the dangerous pressure of Derek’s fangs along his jugular. The air thickens with the bittersweet scent of his precome, dripping slowing from his flushed head, pooling in the soft line of hair between Stiles’ navel and cock. He retracts his claws so he can grip Stiles by the waist, pulls his fangs in too until just his blunt human teeth are clamped on his neck. He bites harder, grunting his satisfaction as Stiles bucks up against him, his own leaking cock seeking friction.

Derek pulls away to examine the large, deep indentations his teeth have left next the hickey. He can smell the blood rushing to the surface; it’s going to bruise soon. Stiles will be bearing his mark for days.

“You’re purring,” Stiles says, how own voice shaky. “I didn’t think wolves could purr, but you’re definitely purring.” 

“I want you to fuck me.” A shiver of anxious relief floods through at finally saying it, spurred on by the astounding beauty of Stiles trusting him so completely with his life. He wants to offer himself back, wants to give Stiles the gift of his trust, wants to know what it feels like to put himself at his mercy and know he’ll be safe.

“Whoa – wait – okay, yeah.” Stiles takes a deep breath and runs his hands down to cup Derek’s ass, cautious but confident. “Is that what you meant when you said you wanted to submit to me?”

“Yes. Is that okay?”

“Dude that is more than okay, that is…yeah, that is good. Really, really good.”

“Good,” Derek repeats, moving off of him to rise up to his hands and knees, smiling at the wide-eyed look of shock and lust that colors Stiles’ face. “I know you have lube,” he says, lifting his eyebrows in expectation.

“Do I want to know how you know that?” Stiles asks as he pulls a half-empty bottle from between the mattress and the box spring.

“Probably not.” 

Whatever he’s going to say in response disappears into a garbled moan as Derek reaches back with one hand and spreads himself open, body eager and hungry and _empty_ in a way he’s never felt before.

Stiles’ hands are trembling as he gets into position in his knees behind him, pressing a lubed up finger against his twitching, tight hole. “Derek,” he mumbles, voice low and scratchy. “I’m not going to last long…you’re just so…” 

“Me too,” he answers, his own voice huskier and more ragged than he’s ever heard.

Stiles nibbles kisses into his back, his hips, his ass, as he gently, slowly, stretches him open with his long, strong fingers. Derek’s body gives in easily, eagerly.  When he’s good and stretched Stiles reaches between Derek’s legs to work his still lube-slick hand over his cock, teasing his foreskin, milking him for more and more precome. 

“Are you always this wet,” Stiles whispers, shy almost, lips and breath hot against his back. 

“No,” Derek admits, cheeks growing even hotter. “It’s you…I’m…for you.”

“For when you knot me,” Stiles says, sounding as broken and ragged as Derek feels, pulling his hand away to slick his own cock messy with lube and Derek’s precome. Derek grunts a yes and then loses himself in the heat of Stiles’ dick pressing against him, the head slipping in and pulling lightly against his rim as Stiles thrusts gently, inching into him slowly. 

They both groan loudly when Stiles bottoms out, burying himself to the hilt. Derek feels aflame, achingly full, bursting and sparking with pleasure, simmering and coiling under his skin, into his bones. Stiles starts to thrust, slowly at first and then faster, mumbling and moaning incoherently, hands gripped tight on his hips. Derek feels like he’s being split open with each confident thrust, the friction splintering and stabbing through him with striking precision. He’s lost all control of himself, is nothing but liquid heat to be molded and shaped to Stiles’ liking.

Stiles pulls out completely without warning, drawing a betrayed gasp from him. “Roll over,” he orders, and fuck, Derek _obeys_. “Wanna see your face,” Stiles mumbles, pushing Derek’s legs up and apart, slick hands sliding across his thighs and he slides back in, the new angle electrifying him anew. Stiles locks his eyes with Derek’s, doesn’t let him look away as he begins hammering into him, sweat dripping from his brow and onto Derek’s chest. Stiles is a vision, eyes blown wide in hunger and wonder, cheeks flushed and red as his open, panting mouth. “Derek, fuck, Derek you feel so good. I’m so close.” The broken hitch in his voice snaps something inside of Derek just as Stiles ratchets up his pace and that’s it, Derek’s done, tumbling over the edge, coming untouched, body quivering and dissolving, orgasm shaking through him, soaking his chest and stomach.

Stiles is still thrusting away, eyes hooded, grin wicked, _smug_. “Look at you…look at all the come I fucked out of you, alpha.” He lets go of Derek’s hip to run his fingers through the mess on his chest, bringing his fingers to his mouth to taste it. Derek thinks he sees a flash of red in Stiles’ eyes, but he can’t be sure because his head is hazy and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut anyways, rhythm getting erratic as he licks his fingers. Derek arches up to kiss him, hand clamping hard around his neck to bring him close just as Stiles comes, hips spasming violently, pressing a groan into Derek’s open mouth. 

Stiles is a heap of sweaty, dense weight on his chest, sliding out of him with a grunt and rush of come. They don’t move for a long time, breathing in sync as they settle, bodies still shuddering every now and again as the aftershocks pulse through them. Stiles teases a hand up Derek’s thigh and back around to his still wet and stretched hole, two fingers sliding in easily and Derek instinctively clenches around them. “So,” Stiles says, that wicked grin back on his lovely face. “Does this mean I’m the alpha now?”

**~*~**

“You’re sure?” Derek huffs, _again_ , because even though Stiles has told him several times that he wants this, he still can’t be sure enough. The idea of Stiles bonding himself to Derek without fully and completely wanting it, needing it, fills him with enough terror to override his wolf’s pained call knot Stiles senseless.

“Goddammit, Derek, if you ask me _one more time_ –“ Derek cuts him off with a kiss, ferocious and needful, giving his fingers one more blistering shove before pulling them out of Stiles’ wet and stretched ass. Stiles whines, and Derek smirks. 

“So that’s a yes, then?” He hauls Stiles up by the hips, rolling him over onto his hands and knees, breath catching in his throat at the sight of him, hips cocked up, legs spread, open and gaping.

“Fuck, yes,” Stiles grunts, reaching back with one hand to grasp at Derek’s dripping cock, guiding him towards his hole.

Derek stops breathing for a long moment as he watches himself disappear into Stiles, slick inch by inch, stretching him wide, making him keen. Stiles is impossibly tight and warm, hugging him tight and _fuck_ , Stiles is already rolling his hips, demanding, eagerly seeking his own pleasure before Derek even has a chance to get his bearings.

He leans back, stunned, clasping Stiles’ ankles, locking his hips, mesmerized by the shameless way Stiles is fucking himself good and hard on Derek’s dick. He finally manages to catch up with Stiles, seizing him by the hips and thrusting into his rolls, snapping his hips so hard Stiles cries out.

Derek drinks in the sound, letting it spur him on, falling into a relentless, hurried pace, all hesitation gone as he loses himself in the exhilarating perfection of fucking hard and fast into his beautiful, wild, perfect mate. Stiles is moaning incoherently, possibly begging for more, definitely choking over Derek’s name.

He falls over Stiles’ back, delighting in the cool press of sweat on his too-hot chest, licking at his neck, hips snapping of their own accord. He’s close, so close, a boiling climax building through him in a way he’s never felt before, pulling at him like the moon.

The base of his dick is starting to swell, pressing hotly inside Stiles, catching on his rim. He winces slightly in pain and Derek slows the rocking of his hips as much as he can, rising back up to his knees, breathing hard, unable to slow any further because he’s there, _right there_ , shaking and rutting with the sheer force of it, knot growing more as he comes, filling Stiles up.

Stiles has gone silent but for heavy panting breaths, heart pounding loud in Derek’s ears as he closes his eyes against the wall of newly discovered bliss at being bound this intimately, this completely, to Stiles. It’s more than just the earth-shattering orgasm – which, fuck, he’s still pulsing little bursts of hot come with each quivering aftershock – it’s knowing, down to his bones, to his broken soul, that Stiles is _his_.

He gets a hand around Stiles’ dick, jerking him roughly a few times until he’s coming, gasping, body arching and flexing. Derek catches as much of his come in the palm of his hand as he can, reaching back to spread the hot, sticky mess over Stiles' shoulder blade, leaning down to lick it off it slow, wet stripes, knotted cock pulsing at the taste.

Stiles goes limp beneath him, wrung out, but Derek’s got him, holding him up easily with one arm hooked snugly around his waist. He continues to lick at bite at him, smiling against his skin as Stiles mumbles. Derek moves them carefully to lie on their sides, still tied together, holding him close.

“Holy shit, dude,” Stiles pants finally, recovering, it seems. “You’re…fuck, you’re amazing. You’re fucking knotted to me and it’s fucking amazing, holy fucking fuck….”

Okay, so maybe not all that recovered. Derek is nearly as dazed, still mouthing lazily at any of Stiles’ skin he can get to, insatiable for the salty sweet taste of his soft skin. “You okay?” he manages to get out, words shapeless against his neck.

“More than okay,” Stiles huffs, voice sounding slightly more normal, but still raw. “I feel…god I don’t know, do you feel that?”

He could be talking about the way Derek’s knot is throbbing inside of him, but Derek’s pretty sure he’s talking about the soft, tender heat that seems to be humming between them, making him feel warm and soft and pliant even as he’s harder than ever inside of him. He knows distantly that it’s the mate bond, locking them together, Derek not really believing it’s something he’s allowed to have until this very moment, until he finally feels whole, holding on tight to his missing piece.

**~*~**

He gets Stiles off once more – rolling so he’s on his back, watching the lean, strong lines of Stiles’ back as he rides his knot like he was made for it, because, _fuck_ , _he was_ – before his knot goes down. He pulls out in a mess of come and Stiles leads him to the bathroom, helping him in to the shower. Stiles’ big brown eyes are dark and wide and he seems a little wobbly on his legs too, but he seems to be more alert than Derek.

Derek’s the wolf, the alpha, he’s the one who’s supposed to be taking care of his mate, but he’s drunk with something that feels like love and it’s so new and powerful and terrifying he’s dazed. Stiles has him though, letting him lean against him under the spray of steaming water, and he's starting to realize that being mated to Stiles means that he doesn’t have to be strong all the time.

**~*~**

They stay in the shower until the water starts to run cold, the chill finally jolting Derek back to something resembling normal. Resembling, because it’s never been normal for him to feel so relaxed, so _happy_ , even before the fire. Stiles pulls on a pair of threadbare flannel pajama pants and offers another pair to Derek, but there’s no way in hell they’ll fit him, so he just pulls his boxer briefs back on as he follows Stiles downstairs, both of their stomachs rumbling.

Maybe it’s that, maybe it’s how damn content he feels, maybe it’s the way he’s distracted by the blooming marks flushing underneath the scatter of moles on Stiles’ back. No matter – he’s still distracted, so distracted that he doesn’t notice Scott – another _wolf_ , for the love of god – until he walks through the front door, calling Stiles’ name, stopping short and dropping a huge bag of fast food when sees them.

Stiles stops short too, Derek nearly running into him. They’re both shirtless, Derek only his underwear, and yeah, they just got out of the shower but they still smell like each other’s come, still smell like _mates_.

And then Scott’s shifting, eyes glowing gold and snarling. “Scott, what the fuck?” Stiles yells as Derek grabs him by the arm, yanks him behind him as he lunges forward, rage and the fierce instinct to protect his mate surging through him, coupled with his irritation at being so fucking done with Scott’s bullshit.

His roar shakes the walls, fangs snapping out hard and fast, eyes burning crimson. He puts as much power as he dares into it, subduing Scott quickly, snarling until the beta crouches back and falls to his knees, features shifting back to normal.

Scott cowers at his feet, hands up in surrender. He looks pitiful, and part of Derek is deeply pleased by that. He retracts his fangs but lets his eyes stay red, body still aching to protect Stiles, who’s placing a tentative hand on Derek’s forearm, saying his name softly. 

“Derek, it’s okay,” he’s saying, pulling him back gently. Derek zeroes in on his voice, letting it calm him. “Scott,” Stiles continues. “I guess, uh, we’ve got some stuff to talk about.”


End file.
